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Lessons from a season laid low

Published: 26 Nov. 2025, 00:05

Oh Kyung-ah

The author is a garden designer and the CEO of OhGardens.

The small farm we failed to tend over the summer became wrapped in kudzu and thick with reeds. The thuja, magnolia and maple trees my husband and I planted a few years ago seemed barely able to breathe under that overgrowth. Yet the scene just days ago was entirely different. The weeds had withered to a yellow hush, returning the landscape to where it began.

Weeds that had grown thick through the summer wither in autumn, revealing the garden’s original form. [OH KYUNG-AH]

The Korean phrase pul jukda is commonly used to describe someone who feels drained. The word pul in that expression originally refers to starch used to stiffen fabric, which loses its firmness as it softens. But in the garden I sense the phrase differently. No matter how vigorous weeds may seem through summer, they too fall silent in autumn.

The English word “autumn” carries the sense of a year that has passed, while “fall” reflects the shedding of leaves. Across cultures, the season suggests a decline in the force of living things. Yet in a precise sense, autumn marks the beginning of what will become new again. A garden laid low opens room for decisions about what to plant next and sets plans for the coming spring.

During a recent garden design project in Pyeongchang, tree planting was in full swing. If trees are to be moved, the ideal time is after the leaves have fallen but before the ground freezes. Nurseries that produce landscape trees are unusually busy this time of year, short on hands despite the cold. That evening the local news announced the opening of a nearby ski resort. Winter may be arriving, but for gardens trying to hold on to what remains of autumn, this is the busiest moment of the year.

Korea’s sharply defined four seasons make Koreans especially attuned to the movement of the year. Our lives follow a similar cycle: moments when strength fades, moments when hope returns, moments when blossoms open and moments when life reaches its peak. Wind blows as it will, rain falls as it must. Nature’s severity is brief, and its beauty no less fleeting.

So the worries we carry cannot be limitless. Even when life feels subdued, like a garden gone still, there will be a time to bloom again. What matters is trusting that cycle and waiting for what comes next.

This article was originally written in Korean and translated by a bilingual reporter with the help of generative AI tools. It was then edited by a native English-speaking editor. All AI-assisted translations are reviewed and refined by our newsroom.